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Last year when he took ill, the Citadel hadsent Pylos out from Oldtown, mere days before Lord Stannis had closed theisle… to help him in his labors, it was said, but Cressen knew the tru

A Clash of Kings

By George R.R Martin

A Song of Ice and Fire - Book 2

A Song of Ice and Fire

01 - A Game of Thrones

02 - A Clash of Kings

03 - A Storm of Swords

04 - A Feast for Crows

05 - A Dance with Dragons

06 - The Winds of Winter

07 - A Dream of Spring

To John and Gail

for all the meat and mead we’ve shared

More details, more devils

This time around, the angels who helped me put them to rest includedWalter Jon Williams, Sage Walker, Melinda Snodgrass, and Carl Keim

Thanks as well to my patient editors and publishers: Anne Groell, NitaTaublib, Joy Chamberlain, Jane Johnson, and Malcolm Edwards

And finally, a tip o’ the tilting helm to Parris for her Magic Coffee, thefuel that built the Seven Kingdoms

Maps

The comet’s tail spread across the dawn, a red slash that bled above the crags

of Dragonstone like a wound in the pink and purple sky

The maester stood on the windswept balcony outside his chambers Itwas here the ravens came, after long flight Their droppings speckled thegargoyles that rose twelve feet tall on either side of him, a hellhound and awyvern, two of the thousand that brooded over the walls of the ancientfortress When first he came to Dragonstone, the army of stone grotesqueshad made him uneasy, but as the years passed he had grown used to them.Now he thought of them as old friends The three of them watched the skytogether with foreboding

The maester did not believe in omens And yet… old as he was, Cressenhad never seen a comet half so bright, nor yet that color, that terrible color,the color of blood and flame and sunsets He wondered if his gargoyles hadever seen its like They had been here so much longer than he had, and wouldstill be here long after he was gone If stone tongues could speak…

Such folly He leaned against the battlement, the sea crashing beneath him, the black stone rough beneath his fingers Talking gargoyles and prophecies in the sky I am an old done man, grown giddy as a child again.

Had a lifetime’s hard-won wisdom fled him along with his health andstrength? He was a maester, trained and chained in the great Citadel ofOldtown What had he come to, when superstition filled his head as if hewere an ignorant fieldhand?

And yet… and yet… the comet burned even by day now, while palegrey steam rose from the hot vents of Dragonmont behind the castle, andyestermorn a white raven had brought word from the Citadel itself, wordlong-expected but no less fearful for all that, word of summer’s end Omens,

all Too many to deny What does it all mean? he wanted to cry.

“Maester Cressen, we have visitors.” Pylos spoke softly, as if loath todisturb Cressen’s solemn meditations Had he known what drivel filled hishead, he would have shouted “The princess would see the white raven.” Ever

correct, Pylos called her princess now, as her lord father was a king King of

a smoking rock in the great salt sea, yet a king nonetheless “Her fool is withher.”

The old man turned away from the dawn, keeping a hand on his wyvern

to steady himself “Help me to my chair and show them in.”

Taking his arm, Pylos led him inside In his youth, Cressen had walkedbriskly, but he was not far from his eightieth name day now, and his legswere frail and unsteady Two years past, he had fallen and shattered a hip,and it had never mended properly Last year when he took ill, the Citadel hadsent Pylos out from Oldtown, mere days before Lord Stannis had closed theisle… to help him in his labors, it was said, but Cressen knew the truth Pyloshad come to replace him when he died He did not mind Someone must takehis place, and sooner than he would like…

He let the younger man settle him behind his books and papers “Gobring her It is ill to keep a lady waiting.” He waved a hand, a feeble gesture

of haste from a man no longer capable of hastening His flesh was wrinkledand spotted, the skin so papery thin that he could see the web of veins and theshape of bones beneath And how they trembled, these hands of his that hadonce been so sure and deft…

When Pylos returned the girl came with him, shy as ever Behind her,shuffling and hopping in that queer sideways walk of his, came her fool Onhis head was a mock helm fashioned from an old tin bucket, with a rack ofdeer antlers strapped to the crown and hung with cowbells With his every

lurching step, the bells rang, each with a different voice, clang-a-dang dong ring-a-ling clong clong clong.

bong-“Who comes to see us so early, Pylos?” Cressen said

“It’s me and Patches, Maester.” Guileless blue eyes blinked at him Herswas not a pretty face, alas The child had her lord father’s square jut of jawand her mother’s unfortunate ears, along with a disfigurement all her own,the legacy of the bout of greyscale that had almost claimed her in the crib.Across half one cheek and well down her neck, her flesh was stiff and dead,the skin cracked and flaking, mottled black and grey and stony to the touch

“Pylos said we might see the white raven.”

“Indeed you may,” Cressen answered As if he would ever deny her Shehad been denied too often in her time Her name was Shireen She would beten on her next name day, and she was the saddest child that Maester Cressen

had ever known Her sadness is my shame, the old man thought, another mark of my failure “Maester Pylos, do me a kindness and bring the bird

down from the rookery for the Lady Shireen.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Pylos was a polite youth, no more than and-twenty, yet solemn as a man of sixty If only he had more humor, more

five-life in him; that was what was needed here Grim places needed lightening,

not solemnity, and Dragonstone was grim beyond a doubt, a lonely citadel inthe wet waste surrounded by storm and salt, with the smoking shadow of themountain at its back A maester must go where he is sent, so Cressen hadcome here with his lord some twelve years past, and he had served, andserved well Yet he had never loved Dragonstone, nor ever felt truly at homehere Of late, when he woke from restless dreams in which the red womanfigured disturbingly, he often did not know where he was

The fool turned his patched and piebald head to watch Pylos climb thesteep iron steps to the rookery His bells rang with the motion “Under the

sea, the birds have scales for feathers,” he said, clang-a-langing “I know, I

know, oh, oh, oh.”

Even for a fool, Patchface was a sorry thing Perhaps once he couldevoke gales of laughter with a quip, but the sea had taken that power fromhim, along with half his wits and all his memory He was soft and obese,subject to twitches and trembles, incoherent as often as not The girl was theonly one who laughed at him now, the only one who cared if he lived or died

An ugly little girl and a sad fool, and maester makes three… now there

is a tale to make men weep “Sit with me, child.” Cressen beckoned her

closer “This is early to come calling, scarce past dawn You should be snug

Shireen was unconvinced “What about the thing in the sky? Dalla andMatrice were talking by the well, and Dalla said she heard the red woman tellMother that it was dragonsbreath If the dragons are breathing, doesn’t thatmean they are coming to life?”

The red woman, Maester Cressen thought sourly Ill enough that she’s filled the head of the mother with her madness, must she poison the daughter’s dreams as well? He would have a stern word with Dalla, warn her

not to spread such tales “The thing in the sky is a comet, sweet child A starwith a tail, lost in the heavens It will be gone soon enough, never to be seenagain in our lifetimes Watch and see.”

Shireen gave a brave little nod “Mother said the white raven means it’snot summer anymore.”

“That is so, my lady The white ravens fly only from the Citadel.”Cressen’s fingers went to the chain about his neck, each link forged from adifferent metal, each symbolizing his mastery of another branch of learning;the maester’s collar, mark of his order In the pride of his youth, he had worn

it easily, but now it seemed heavy to him, the metal cold against his skin

“They are larger than other ravens, and more clever, bred to carry only themost important messages This one came to tell us that the Conclave has met,considered the reports and measurements made by maesters all over therealm, and declared this great summer done at last Ten years, two turns, andsixteen days it lasted, the longest summer in living memory.”

“Will it get cold now?” Shireen was a summer child, and had neverknown true cold

“In time,” Cressen replied “If the gods are good, they will grant us awarm autumn and bountiful harvests, so we might prepare for the winter tocome.” The smallfolk said that a long summer meant an even longer winter,but the maester saw no reason to frighten the child with such tales

Patchface rang his bells “It is always summer under the sea,” he

intoned “The merwives wear nennymoans in their hair and weave gowns ofsilver seaweed I know, I know, oh, oh, oh.”

Shireen giggled “I should like a gown of silver seaweed.”

“Under the sea, it snows up,” said the fool, “and the rain is dry as bone Iknow, I know, oh, oh, oh.”

“Will it truly snow?” the child asked

“It will,” Cressen said But not for years yet, I pray, and then not for long “Ah, here is Pylos with the bird.”

Shireen gave a cry of delight Even Cressen had to admit the bird made

an impressive sight, white as snow and larger than any hawk, with the brightblack eyes that meant it was no mere albino, but a truebred white raven of theCitadel “Here,” he called The raven spread its wings, leapt into the air, andflapped noisily across the room to land on the table beside him

“I’ll see to your breakfast now,” Pylos announced Cressen nodded

“This is the Lady Shireen,” he told the raven The bird bobbed its pale head

up and down, as if it were bowing “Lady,” it croaked “Lady.”

The child’s mouth gaped open “It talks!”

“A few words As I said, they are clever, these birds.”

“Clever bird, clever man, clever clever fool,” said Patchface, jangling

“Oh, clever clever clever fool.” He began to sing “The shadows come to dance, my lord, dance my lord, dance my lord,” he sang, hopping from one foot to the other and back again “The shadows come to stay, my lord, stay my lord, stay my lord.” He jerked his head with each word, the bells in his antlers

sending up a clangor

The white raven screamed and went flapping away to perch on the ironrailing of the rookery stairs Shireen seemed to grow smaller “He sings thatall the time I told him to stop but he won’t It makes me scared Make himstop.”

And how do I do that? the old man wondered Once I might have silenced him forever, but now…

Patchface had come to them as a boy Lord Steffon of cherished memoryhad found him in Volantis, across the narrow sea The king—the old king,Aerys II Targaryen, who had not been quite so mad in those days—had senthis lordship to seek a bride for Prince Rhaegar, who had no sisters to wed

“We have found the most splendid fool,” he wrote Cressen, a fortnight before

he was to return home from his fruitless mission “Only a boy, yet nimble as

a monkey and witty as a dozen courtiers He juggles and riddles and doesmagic, and he can sing prettily in four tongues We have bought his freedomand hope to bring him home with us Robert will be delighted with him, andperhaps in time he will even teach Stannis how to laugh.”

It saddened Cressen to remember that letter No one had ever taughtStannis how to laugh, least of all the boy Patchface The storm came upsuddenly, howling, and Shipbreaker Bay proved the truth of its name The

lord’s two-masted galley Windproud broke up within sight of his castle From

its parapets his two eldest sons had watched as their father’s ship was

smashed against the rocks and swallowed by the waters A hundred oarsmenand sailors went down with Lord Steffon Baratheon and his lady wife, andfor days thereafter every tide left a fresh crop of swollen corpses on the strandbelow Storm’s End.

The boy washed up on the third day Maester Cressen had come downwith the rest, to help put names to the dead When they found the fool he wasnaked, his skin white and wrinkled and powdered with wet sand Cressen hadthought him another corpse, but when Jommy grabbed his ankles to drag himoff to the burial wagon, the boy coughed water and sat up To his dying day,Jommy had sworn that Patchface’s flesh was clammy cold

No one ever explained those two days the fool had been lost in the sea.The fisherfolk liked to say a mermaid had taught him to breathe water inreturn for his seed Patchface himself had said nothing The witty, clever ladthat Lord Steffon had written of never reached Storm’s End; the boy theyfound was someone else, broken in body and mind, hardly capable of speech,much less of wit Yet his fool’s face left no doubt of who he was It was thefashion in the Free City of Volantis to tattoo the faces of slaves and servants;from neck to scalp the boy’s skin had been patterned in squares of red andgreen motley

“The wretch is mad, and in pain, and no use to anyone, least of allhimself,” declared old Ser Harbert, the castellan of Storm’s End in thoseyears “The kindest thing you could do for that one is fill his cup with themilk of the poppy A painless sleep, and there’s an end to it He’d bless you if

he had the wit for it.” But Cressen had refused, and in the end he had won.Whether Patchface had gotten any joy of that victory he could not say, noteven today, so many years later

“The shadows come to dance, my lord, dance my lord, dance my lord,”

the fool sang on, swinging his head and making his bells clang and clatter

Bong dong, ring-a-ling, bong dong.

“Lord,” the white raven shrieked “Lord, lord, lord.”

“A fool sings what he will,” the maester told his anxious princess “Youmust not take his words to heart On the morrow he may remember another

song, and this one will never be heard again.” He can sing prettily in four tongues, Lord Steffon had written…

Pylos strode through the door “Maester, pardons.”

“You have forgotten the porridge,” Cressen said, amused That was mostunlike Pylos

“Maester, Ser Davos returned last night They were talking of it in thekitchen I thought you would want to know at once.”

“Davos… last night, you say? Where is he?”

“With the king They have been together most of the night.”

There was a time when Lord Stannis would have woken him, no matterthe hour, to have him there to give his counsel “I should have been told,”Cressen complained “I should have been woken.” He disentangled hisfingers from Shireen’s “Pardons, my lady, but I must speak with your lordfather Pylos, give me your arm There are too many steps in this castle, and itseems to me they add a few every night, just to vex me.”

Shireen and Patchface followed them out, but the child soon grewrestless with the old man’s creeping pace and dashed ahead, the fool lurchingafter her with his cowbells clanging madly

Castles are not friendly places for the frail, Cressen was reminded as hedescended the turnpike stairs of Sea Dragon Tower Lord Stannis would befound in the Chamber of the Painted Table, atop the Stone Drum,Dragonstone’s central keep, so named for the way its ancient walls boomedand rumbled during storms To reach him they must cross the gallery, passthrough the middle and inner walls with their guardian gargoyles and blackiron gates, and ascend more steps than Cressen cared to contemplate Youngmen climbed steps two at a time; for old men with bad hips, every one was atorment But Lord Stannis would not think to come to him, so the maesterresigned himself to the ordeal He had Pylos to help him, at the least, and forthat he was grateful

Shuffling along the gallery, they passed before a row of tall archedwindows with commanding views of the outer bailey, the curtain wall, andthe fishing village beyond In the yard, archers were firing at practice butts tothe call of “Notch, draw, loose.” Their arrows made a sound like a flock ofbirds taking wing Guardsmen strode the wallwalks, peering between thegargoyles on the host camped without The morning air was hazy with thesmoke of cookfires, as three thousand men sat down to break their fastsbeneath the banners of their lords Past the sprawl of the camp, the anchoragewas crowded with ships No craft that had come within sight of Dragonstone

this past half year had been allowed to leave again Lord Stannis’s Fury, a

triple-decked war galley of three hundred oars, looked almost small besidesome of the big-bellied carracks and cogs that surrounded her

The guardsmen outside the Stone Drum knew the maesters by sight, and

passed them through “Wait here,” Cressen told Pylos, within “It’s best I seehim alone.”

“It is a long climb, Maester.”

Cressen smiled “You think I have forgotten? I have climbed these steps

so often I know each one by name.”

Halfway up, he regretted his decision He had stopped to catch hisbreath and ease the pain in his hip when he heard the scuff of boots on stone,and came face-to-face with Ser Davos Seaworth, descending

Davos was a slight man, his low birth written plain upon a commonface A well-worn green cloak, stained by salt and spray and faded from thesun, draped his thin shoulders, over brown doublet and breeches that matchedbrown eyes and hair About his neck a pouch of worn leather hung from athong His small beard was well peppered with grey, and he wore a leatherglove on his maimed left hand When he saw Cressen, he checked hisdescent

“Ser Davos,” the maester said “When did you return?”

“In the black of morning My favorite time.” It was said that no one hadever handled a ship by night half so well as Davos Shorthand Before LordStannis had knighted him, he had been the most notorious and elusivesmuggler in all the Seven Kingdoms

“You spoke to them all?”

“All? No Only those that would see me They do not love me either,these highborns To them I’ll always be the Onion Knight.” His left handclosed, stubby fingers locking into a fist; Stannis had hacked the ends off atthe last joint, all but the thumb “I broke bread with Gulian Swann and oldPenrose, and the Tarths consented to a midnight meeting in a grove Theothers—well, Beric Dondarrion is gone missing, some say dead, and LordCaron is with Renly Bryce the Orange, of the Rainbow Guard.”

“The Rainbow Guard?”

“Renly’s made his own Kingsguard,” the onetime smuggler explained,

“but these seven don’t wear white Each one has his own color LorasTyrell’s their Lord Commander.”

It was just the sort of notion that would appeal to Renly Baratheon; asplendid new order of knighthood, with gorgeous new raiment to proclaim it.Even as a boy, Renly had loved bright colors and rich fabrics, and he hadloved his games as well “Look at me!” he would shout as he ran laughingthrough the halls of Storm’s End “Look at me, I’m a dragon,” or “Look at

me, I’m a wizard,” or “Look at me, look at me, I’m the rain god.”

The bold little boy with wild black hair and laughing eyes was a man

grown now, one-and-twenty, and still he played his games Look at me, I’m a king, Cressen thought sadly Oh, Renly, Renly, dear sweet child, do you know what you are doing? And would you care if you did? Is there anyone who cares for him but me? “What reasons did the lords give for their refusals?” he

asked Ser Davos

“Well, as to that, some gave me soft words and some blunt, some madeexcuses, some promises, some only lied.” He shrugged “In the end words arejust wind.”

“You could bring him no hope?”

“Only the false sort, and I’d not do that,” Davos said “He had the truthfrom me.”

Maester Cressen remembered the day Davos had been knighted, afterthe siege of Storm’s End Lord Stannis and a small garrison had held thecastle for close to a year, against the great host of the Lords Tyrell andRedwyne Even the sea was closed against them, watched day and night byRedwyne galleys flying the burgundy banners of the Arbor Within Storm’sEnd, the horses had long since been eaten, the dogs and cats were gone, andthe garrison was down to roots and rats Then came a night when the moonwas new and black clouds hid the stars Cloaked in that darkness, Davos thesmuggler had dared the Redwyne cordon and the rocks of Shipbreaker Bayalike His little ship had a black hull, black sails, black oars, and a holdcrammed with onions and salt fish Little enough, yet it had kept the garrisonalive long enough for Eddard Stark to reach Storm’s End and break the siege.Lord Stannis had rewarded Davos with choice lands on Cape Wrath, asmall keep, and a knight’s honors… but he had also decreed that he lose ajoint of each finger on his left hand, to pay for all his years of smuggling.Davos had submitted, on the condition that Stannis wield the knife himself;

he would accept no punishment from lesser hands The lord had used abutcher’s cleaver, the better to cut clean and true Afterward, Davos hadchosen the name Seaworth for his new-made house, and he took for his

banner a black ship on a pale grey field—with an onion on its sails Theonetime smuggler was fond of saying that Lord Stannis had done him a boon,

by giving him four less fingernails to clean and trim

No, Cressen thought, a man like that would give no false hope, norsoften a hard truth “Ser Davos, truth can be a bitter draught, even for a manlike Lord Stannis He thinks only of returning to King’s Landing in thefullness of his power, to tear down his enemies and claim what is rightfullyhis Yet now…”

“If he takes this meager host to King’s Landing, it will be only to die

He does not have the numbers I told him as much, but you know his pride.”Davos held up his gloved hand “My fingers will grow back before that manbends to sense.”

The old man sighed “You have done all you could Now I must add myvoice to yours.” Wearily, he resumed his climb

Lord Stannis Baratheon’s refuge was a great round room with walls ofbare black stone and four tall narrow windows that looked out to the fourpoints of the compass In the center of the chamber was the great table fromwhich it took its name, a massive slab of carved wood fashioned at thecommand of Aegon Targaryen in the days before the Conquest The PaintedTable was more than fifty feet long, perhaps half that wide at its widest point,but less than four feet across at its narrowest Aegon’s carpenters had shaped

it after the land of Westeros, sawing out each bay and peninsula until thetable nowhere ran straight On its surface, darkened by near three hundredyears of varnish, were painted the Seven Kingdoms as they had been inAegon’s day; rivers and mountains, castles and cities, lakes and forests

There was a single chair in the room, carefully positioned in the preciseplace that Dragonstone occupied off the coast of Westeros, and raised up togive a good view of the tabletop Seated in the chair was a man in a tight-laced leather jerkin and breeches of roughspun brown wool When Maester

Cressen entered, he glanced up “I knew you would come, old man, whether I

summoned you or no.” There was no hint of warmth in his voice; thereseldom was

Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone and by the grace of the godsrightful heir to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, wasbroad of shoulder and sinewy of limb, with a tightness to his face and flesh

that spoke of leather cured in the sun until it was as tough as steel Hard was

the word men used when they spoke of Stannis, and hard he was Though he

was not yet five-and-thirty, only a fringe of thin black hair remained on hishead, circling behind his ears like the shadow of a crown His brother, the lateKing Robert, had grown a beard in his final years Maester Cressen had neverseen it, but they said it was a wild thing, thick and fierce As if in answer,Stannis kept his own whiskers cropped tight and short They lay like a blue-black shadow across his square jaw and the bony hollows of his cheeks Hiseyes were open wounds beneath his heavy brows, a blue as dark as the sea bynight His mouth would have given despair to even the drollest of fools; itwas a mouth made for frowns and scowls and sharply worded commands, allthin pale lips and clenched muscles, a mouth that had forgotten how to smileand had never known how to laugh Sometimes when the world grew verystill and silent of a night, Maester Cressen fancied he could hear Lord Stannisgrinding his teeth half a castle away.

“Once you would have woken me,” the old man said

“Once you were young Now you are old and sick, and need your sleep.”Stannis had never learned to soften his speech, to dissemble or flatter; he saidwhat he thought, and those that did not like it could be damned “I knewyou’d learn what Davos had to say soon enough You always do, don’t you?”

“I would be of no help to you if I did not,” Cressen said “I met Davos

on the stair.”

“And he told all, I suppose? I should have had the man’s tongueshortened along with his fingers.”

“He would have made you a poor envoy then.”

“He made me a poor envoy in any case The storm lords will not rise for

me It seems they do not like me, and the justice of my cause means nothing

to them The cravenly ones will sit behind their walls waiting to see how thewind rises and who is likely to triumph The bold ones have already declared

for Renly For Renly!” He spat out the name like poison on his tongue.

“Your brother has been the Lord of Storm’s End these past thirteenyears These lords are his sworn bannermen—”

“His,” Stannis broke in, “when by rights they should be mine I never

asked for Dragonstone I never wanted it I took it because Robert’s enemieswere here and he commanded me to root them out I built his fleet and did hiswork, dutiful as a younger brother should be to an elder, as Renly should be

to me And what was Robert’s thanks? He names me Lord of Dragonstone,

and gives Storm’s End and its incomes to Renly Storm’s End belonged to

House Baratheon for three hundred years; by rights it should have passed to

me when Robert took the Iron Throne.”

It was an old grievance, deeply felt, and never more so than now Herewas the heart of his lord’s weakness; for Dragonstone, old and strong though

it was, commanded the allegiance of only a handful of lesser lords, whosestony island holdings were too thinly peopled to yield up the men that Stannisneeded Even with the sellswords he had brought across the narrow sea fromthe Free Cities of Myr and Lys, the host camped outside his walls was far toosmall to bring down the power of House Lannister

“Robert did you an injustice,” Maester Cressen replied carefully, “yet hehad sound reasons Dragonstone had long been the seat of House Targaryen

He needed a man’s strength to rule here, and Renly was but a child.”

“He is a child still,” Stannis declared, his anger ringing loud in theempty hall, “a thieving child who thinks to snatch the crown off my brow.What has Renly ever done to earn a throne? He sits in council and jests withLittlefinger, and at tourneys he dons his splendid suit of armor and allowshimself to be knocked off his horse by a better man That is the sum of mybrother Renly, who thinks he ought to be a king I ask you, why did the gods

inflict me with brothers?”

“I cannot answer for the gods.”

“You seldom answer at all these days, it seems to me Who maesters forRenly? Perchance I should send for him, I might like his counsel better What

do you think this maester said when my brother decided to steal my crown?What counsel did your colleague offer to this traitor blood of mine?”

“It would surprise me if Lord Renly sought counsel, Your Grace.” Theyoungest of Lord Steffon’s three sons had grown into a man bold butheedless, who acted from impulse rather than calculation In that, as in somuch else, Renly was like his brother Robert, and utterly unlike Stannis

“Your Grace,” Stannis repeated bitterly “You mock me with a king’s

style, yet what am I king of? Dragonstone and a few rocks in the narrow sea,there is my kingdom.” He descended the steps of his chair to stand before thetable, his shadow falling across the mouth of the Blackwater Rush and thepainted forest where King’s Landing now stood There he stood, broodingover the realm he sought to claim, so near at hand and yet so far away

“Tonight I am to sup with my lords bannermen, such as they are Celtigar,Velaryon, Bar Emmon, the whole paltry lot of them A poor crop, if truth betold, but they are what my brothers have left me That Lysene pirateSalladhor Saan will be there with the latest tally of what I owe him, and

Morosh the Myrman will caution me with talk of tides and autumn gales,while Lord Sunglass mutters piously of the will of the Seven Celtigar willwant to know which storm lords are joining us Velaryon will threaten to takehis levies home unless we strike at once What am I to tell them? What must I

do now?”

“Your true enemies are the Lannisters, my lord,” Maester Cressenanswered “If you and your brother were to make common cause againstthem—”

“I will not treat with Renly,” Stannis answered in a tone that brooked noargument “Not while he calls himself a king.”

“Not Renly, then,” the maester yielded His lord was stubborn andproud; when he had set his mind, there was no changing it “Others mightserve your needs as well Eddard Stark’s son has been proclaimed King in theNorth, with all the power of Winterfell and Riverrun behind him.”

“A green boy,” said Stannis, “and another false king Am I to accept abroken realm?”

“Surely half a kingdom is better than none,” Cressen said, “and if youhelp the boy avenge his father’s murder—”

“Why should I avenge Eddard Stark? The man was nothing to me Oh,

Robert loved him, to be sure Loved him as a brother, how often did I hear that? I was his brother, not Ned Stark, but you would never have known it by

the way he treated me I held Storm’s End for him, watching good men starvewhile Mace Tyrell and Paxter Redwyne feasted within sight of my walls Did

Robert thank me? No He thanked Stark, for lifting the siege when we were

down to rats and radishes I built a fleet at Robert’s command, took

Dragonstone in his name Did he take my hand and say, Well done, brother, whatever should I do without you? No, he blamed me for letting Willem

Darry steal away Viserys and the babe, as if I could have stopped it I sat onhis council for fifteen years, helping Jon Arryn rule his realm while Robertdrank and whored, but when Jon died, did my brother name me his Hand?

No, he went galloping off to his dear friend Ned Stark, and offered him thehonor And small good it did either of them.”

“Be that as it may, my lord,” Maester Cressen said gently “Greatwrongs have been done you, but the past is dust The future may yet be won

if you join with the Starks There are others you might sound out as well.What of Lady Arryn? If the queen murdered her husband, surely she willwant justice for him She has a young son, Jon Arryn’s heir If you were to

betroth Shireen to him—”

“The boy is weak and sickly,” Lord Stannis objected “Even his fathersaw how it was, when he asked me to foster him on Dragonstone Service as

a page might have done him good, but that damnable Lannister woman hadLord Arryn poisoned before it could be done, and now Lysa hides him in theEyrie She’ll never part with the boy, I promise you that.”

“Then you must send Shireen to the Eyrie,” the maester urged

“Dragonstone is a grim home for a child Let her fool go with her, so she willhave a familiar face about her.”

“Familiar and hideous.” Stannis furrowed his brow in thought “Still…perhaps it is worth the trying…”

“Must the rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms beg for help fromwidow women and usurpers?” a woman’s voice asked sharply

Maester Cressen turned, and bowed his head “My lady,” he said,chagrined that he had not heard her enter

Lord Stannis scowled “I do not beg Of anyone Mind you rememberthat, woman.”

“I am pleased to hear it, my lord.” Lady Selyse was as tall as herhusband, thin of body and thin of face, with prominent ears, a sharp nose, andthe faintest hint of a mustache on her upper lip She plucked it daily andcursed it regularly, yet it never failed to return Her eyes were pale, her mouthstern, her voice a whip She cracked it now “Lady Arryn owes you herallegiance, as do the Starks, your brother Renly, and all the rest You are theirone true king It would not be fitting to plead and bargain with them for what

is rightfully yours by the grace of god.”

God, she said, not gods The red woman had won her, heart and soul,

turning her from the gods of the Seven Kingdoms, both old and new, toworship the one they called the Lord of Light

“Your god can keep his grace,” said Lord Stannis, who did not share hiswife’s fervent new faith “It’s swords I need, not blessings Do you have anarmy hidden somewhere that you’ve not told me of?” There was no affection

in his tone Stannis had always been uncomfortable around women, even hisown wife When he had gone to King’s Landing to sit on Robert’s council, hehad left Selyse on Dragonstone with their daughter His letters had been few,his visits fewer; he did his duty in the marriage bed once or twice a year, buttook no joy in it, and the sons he had once hoped for had never come

“My brothers and uncles and cousins have armies,” she told him

“House Florent will rally to your banner.”

“House Florent can field two thousand swords at best.” It was said thatStannis knew the strength of every house in the Seven Kingdoms “And youhave a deal more faith in your brothers and uncles than I do, my lady TheFlorent lands lie too close to Highgarden for your lord uncle to risk MaceTyrell’s wrath.”

“There is another way.” Lady Selyse moved closer “Look out yourwindows, my lord There is the sign you have waited for, blazoned on the

sky Red, it is, the red of flame, red for the fiery heart of the true god It is his

banner—and yours! See how it unfurls across the heavens like a dragon’s hotbreath, and you the Lord of Dragonstone It means your time has come, YourGrace Nothing is more certain You are meant to sail from this desolate rock

as Aegon the Conqueror once sailed, to sweep all before you as he did Onlysay the word, and embrace the power of the Lord of Light.”

“How many swords will the Lord of Light put into my hand?” Stannisdemanded again

“All you need,” his wife promised “The swords of Storm’s End andHighgarden for a start, and all their lords bannermen.”

“Davos would tell you different,” Stannis said “Those swords are sworn

to Renly They love my charming young brother, as they once lovedRobert… and as they have never loved me.”

“Yes,” she answered, “but if Renly should die…”

Stannis looked at his lady with narrowed eyes, until Cressen could nothold his tongue “It is not to be thought Your Grace, whatever follies Renlyhas committed—”

“Follies? I call them treasons.” Stannis turned back to his wife “My

brother is young and strong, and he has a vast host around him, and theserainbow knights of his.”

“Melisandre has gazed into the flames, and seen him dead.”

Cressen was horrorstruck “Fratricide… my lord, this is evil,

unthinkable… please, listen to me.”

Lady Selyse gave him a measured look “And what will you tell him,Maester? How he might win half a kingdom if he goes to the Starks on hisknees and sells our daughter to Lysa Arryn?”

“I have heard your counsel, Cressen,” Lord Stannis said “Now I willhear hers You are dismissed.”

Maester Cressen bent a stiff knee He could feel Lady Selyse’s eyes on

his back as he shuffled slowly across the room By the time he reached thebottom of the steps it was all he could do to stand erect “Help me,” he said toPylos.

When he was safe back in his own rooms, Cressen sent the younger manaway and limped to his balcony once more, to stand between his gargoylesand stare out to sea One of Salladhor Saan’s warships was sweeping past thecastle, her gaily striped hull slicing through the grey-green waters as her oars

rose and fell He watched until she vanished behind a headland Would that

my fears could vanish so easily Had he lived so long for this?

When a maester donned his collar, he put aside the hope of children, yetCressen had oft felt a father nonetheless Robert, Stannis, Renly… three sons

he had raised after the angry sea claimed Lord Steffon Had he done so ill that

now he must watch one kill the other? He could not allow it, would not allow

it

The woman was the heart of it Not the Lady Selyse, the other one The

red woman, the servants had named her, afraid to speak her name “I will

speak her name,” Cressen told his stone hellhound “Melisandre Her.”

Melisandre of Asshai, sorceress, shadowbinder, and priestess to R’hllor, theLord of Light, the Heart of Fire, the God of Flame and Shadow Melisandre,whose madness must not be allowed to spread beyond Dragonstone

His chambers seemed dim and gloomy after the brightness of themorning With fumbling hands, the old man lit a candle and carried it to theworkroom beneath the rookery stair, where his ointments, potions, andmedicines stood neatly on their shelves On the bottom shelf behind a row ofsalves in squat clay jars he found a vial of indigo glass, no larger than hislittle finger It rattled when he shook it Cressen blew away a layer of dustand carried it back to his table Collapsing into his chair, he pulled thestopper and spilled out the vial’s contents A dozen crystals, no larger thanseeds, rattled across the parchment he’d been reading They shone like jewels

in the candlelight, so purple that the maester found himself thinking that hehad never truly seen the color before

The chain around his throat felt very heavy He touched one of the

crystals lightly with the tip of his little finger Such a small thing to hold the power of life and death It was made from a certain plant that grew only on

the islands of the Jade Sea, half a world away The leaves had to be aged, andsoaked in a wash of limes and sugar water and certain rare spices from theSummer Isles Afterward they could be discarded, but the potion must be

thickened with ash and allowed to crystallize The process was slow anddifficult, the necessaries costly and hard to acquire The alchemists of Lysknew the way of it, though, and the Faceless Men of Braavos… and themaesters of his order as well, though it was not something talked aboutbeyond the walls of the Citadel All the world knew that a maester forged hissilver link when he learned the art of healing—but the world preferred toforget that men who knew how to heal also knew how to kill.

Cressen no longer recalled the name the Asshai’i gave the leaf, or theLysene poisoners the crystal In the Citadel, it was simply called thestrangler Dissolved in wine, it would make the muscles of a man’s throatclench tighter than any fist, shutting off his windpipe They said a victim’sface turned as purple as the little crystal seed from which his death wasgrown, but so too did a man choking on a morsel of food

And this very night Lord Stannis would feast his bannermen, his ladywife… and the red woman, Melisandre of Asshai

I must rest, Maester Cressen told himself I must have all my strength come dark My hands must not shake, nor my courage flag It is a dreadful thing I do, yet it must be done If there are gods, surely they will forgive me.

He had slept so poorly of late A nap would refresh him for the ordeal ahead.Wearily, he tottered off to his bed Yet when he closed his eyes, he could stillsee the light of the comet, red and fiery and vividly alive amidst the darkness

of his dreams Perhaps it is my comet, he thought drowsily at the last, just before sleep took him An omen of blood, foretelling murder… yes…

When he woke it was full dark, his bedchamber was black, and everyjoint in his body ached Cressen pushed himself up, his head throbbing

Clutching for his cane, he rose unsteady to his feet So late, he thought They did not summon me He was always summoned for feasts, seated near the

salt, close to Lord Stannis His lord’s face swam up before him, not the man

he was but the boy he had been, standing cold in the shadows while the sunshone on his elder brother Whatever he did, Robert had done first, and better

Poor boy… he must hurry, for his sake.

The maester found the crystals where he had left them, and scoopedthem off the parchment Cressen owned no hollow rings, such as thepoisoners of Lys were said to favor, but a myriad of pockets great and smallwere sewn inside the loose sleeves of his robe He secreted the stranglerseeds in one of them, threw open his door, and called, “Pylos? Where areyou?” When he heard no reply, he called again, louder “Pylos, I need help.”

Still there came no answer That was queer; the young maester had his cellonly a half turn down the stair, within easy earshot.

In the end, Cressen had to shout for the servants “Make haste,” he toldthem “I have slept too long They will be feasting by now… drinking… Ishould have been woken.” What had happened to Maester Pylos? Truly, hedid not understand

Again he had to cross the long gallery A night wind whispered throughthe great windows, sharp with the smell of the sea Torches flickered alongthe walls of Dragonstone, and in the camp beyond, he could see hundreds ofcookfires burning, as if a field of stars had fallen to the earth Above, the

comet blazed red and malevolent I am too old and wise to fear such things,

the maester told himself

The doors to the Great Hall were set in the mouth of a stone dragon Hetold the servants to leave him outside It would be better to enter alone; hemust not appear feeble Leaning heavily on his cane, Cressen climbed the lastfew steps and hobbled beneath the gateway teeth A pair of guardsmenopened the heavy red doors before him, unleashing a sudden blast of noiseand light Cressen stepped down into the dragon’s maw

Over the clatter of knife and plate and the low mutter of table talk, he

heard Patchface singing, “…dance, my lord, dance my lord,” to the

accompaniment of jangling cowbells The same dreadful song he’d sung this

morning “The shadows come to stay, my lord, stay my lord, stay my lord.”

The lower tables were crowded with knights, archers, and sellsword captains,tearing apart loaves of black bread to soak in their fish stew Here there was

no loud laughter, no raucous shouting such as marred the dignity of othermen’s feasts; Lord Stannis did not permit such

Cressen made his way toward the raised platform where the lords satwith the king He had to step wide around Patchface Dancing, his bellsringing, the fool neither saw nor heard his approach As he hopped from oneleg to the other, Patchface lurched into Cressen, knocking his cane out fromunder him They went crashing down together amidst the rushes in a tangle ofarms and legs, while a sudden gale of laughter went up around them Nodoubt it was a comical sight

Patchface sprawled half on top of him, motley fool’s face pressed close

to his own He had lost his tin helm with its antlers and bells “Under the sea,

you fall up,” he declared “I know, I know, oh, oh, oh.” Giggling, the fool

rolled off, bounded to his feet, and did a little dance

Trying to make the best of it, the maester smiled feebly and struggled torise, but his hip was in such pain that for a moment he was half afraid that hehad broken it all over again He felt strong hands grasp him under the armsand lift him back to his feet “Thank you, ser,” he murmured, turning to seewhich knight had come to his aid…

“Maester,” said Lady Melisandre, her deep voice flavored with themusic of the Jade Sea “You ought take more care.” As ever, she wore redhead to heel, a long loose gown of flowing silk as bright as fire, with daggedsleeves and deep slashes in the bodice that showed glimpses of a darkerbloodred fabric beneath Around her throat was a red gold choker tighter thanany maester’s chain, ornamented with a single great ruby Her hair was notthe orange or strawberry color of common red-haired men, but a deepburnished copper that shone in the light of the torches Even her eyes werered… but her skin was smooth and white, unblemished, pale as cream.Slender she was, graceful, taller than most knights, with full breasts andnarrow waist and a heart-shaped face Men’s eyes that once found her did notquickly look away, not even a maester’s eyes Many called her beautiful Shewas not beautiful She was red, and terrible, and red

“I… thank you, my lady.”

“A man your age must look to where he steps,” Melisandre saidcourteously “The night is dark and full of terrors.”

He knew the phrase, some prayer of her faith It makes no matter, I have

a faith of my own “Only children fear the dark,” he told her Yet even as he said the words, he heard Patchface take up his song again “The shadows come to dance, my lord, dance my lord, dance my lord.”

“Now here is a riddle,” Melisandre said “A clever fool and a foolishwise man.” Bending, she picked up Patchface’s helm from where it had fallenand set it on Cressen’s head The cowbells rang softly as the tin bucket sliddown over his ears “A crown to match your chain, Lord Maester,” sheannounced All around them, men were laughing

Cressen pressed his lips together and fought to still his rage She thought

he was feeble and helpless, but she would learn otherwise before the nightwas done Old he might be, yet he was still a maester of the Citadel “I need

no crown but truth,” he told her, removing the fool’s helm from his head

“There are truths in this world that are not taught at Oldtown.”Melisandre turned from him in a swirl of red silk and made her way back tothe high table, where King Stannis and his queen were seated Cressen

handed the antlered tin bucket back to Patchface, and made to follow.

Maester Pylos sat in his place

The old man could only stop and stare “Maester Pylos,” he said at last

“You… you did not wake me.”

“His Grace commanded me to let you rest.” Pylos had at least the grace

to blush “He told me you were not needed here.”

Cressen looked over the knights and captains and lords sitting silent.Lord Celtigar, aged and sour, wore a mantle patterned with red crabs pickedout in garnets Handsome Lord Velaryon chose sea-green silk, the white goldseahorse at his throat matching his long fair hair Lord Bar Emmon, thatplump boy of fourteen, was swathed in purple velvet trimmed with whiteseal, Ser Axell Florent remained homely even in russet and fox fur, piousLord Sunglass wore moonstones at throat and wrist and finger, and theLysene captain Salladhor Saan was a sunburst of scarlet satin, gold, andjewels Only Ser Davos dressed simply, in brown doublet and green woolmantle, and only Ser Davos met his gaze, with pity in his eyes

“You are too ill and too confused to be of use to me, old man.” Itsounded so like Lord Stannis’s voice, but it could not be, it could not “Pyloswill counsel me henceforth Already he works with the ravens, since you can

no longer climb to the rookery I will not have you kill yourself in myservice.”

Maester Cressen blinked Stannis, my lord, my sad sullen boy, son I never had, you must not do this, don’t you know how I have cared for you, lived for you, loved you despite all? Yes, loved you, better than Robert even,

or Renly, for you were the one unloved, the one who needed me most Yet all

he said was, “As you command, my lord, but… but I am hungry Might not I

have a place at your table?” At your side, I belong at your side…

Ser Davos rose from the bench “I should be honored if the maesterwould sit here beside me, Your Grace.”

“As you will.” Lord Stannis turned away to say something toMelisandre, who had seated herself at his right hand, in the place of highhonor Lady Selyse was on his left, flashing a smile as bright and brittle asher jewels

Too far, Cressen thought dully, looking at where Ser Davos was seated Half of the lords bannermen were between the smuggler and the high table I must be closer to her if I am to get the strangler into her cup, yet how?

Patchface was capering about as the maester made his slow way around

the table to Davos Seaworth “Here we eat fish,” the fool declared happily,waving a cod about like a scepter “Under the sea, the fish eat us I know, Iknow, oh, oh, oh.”

Ser Davos moved aside to make room on the bench “We all should be

in motley tonight,” he said gloomily as Cressen seated himself, “for this isfool’s business we’re about The red woman has seen victory in her flames,

so Stannis means to press his claim, no matter what the numbers Beforeshe’s done we’re all like to see what Patchface saw, I fear—the bottom of thesea.”

Cressen slid his hands up into his sleeves as if for warmth His fingersfound the hard lumps the crystals made in the wool “Lord Stannis.”

Stannis turned from the red woman, but it was Lady Selyse who replied

“King Stannis You forget yourself, Maester.”

“He is old, his mind wanders,” the king told her gruffly “What is it,Cressen? Speak your mind.”

“As you intend to sail, it is vital that you make common cause with LordStark and Lady Arryn…”

“I make common cause with no one,” Stannis Baratheon said

“No more than light makes common cause with darkness.” Lady Selysetook his hand

Stannis nodded “The Starks seek to steal half my kingdom, even as theLannisters have stolen my throne and my own sweet brother the swords andservice and strongholds that are mine by rights They are all usurpers, andthey are all my enemies.”

I have lost him, Cressen thought, despairing If only he could somehow

approach Melisandre unseen… he needed but an instant’s access to her cup

“You are the rightful heir to your brother Robert, the true Lord of the SevenKingdoms, and King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men,” he saiddesperately, “but even so, you cannot hope to triumph without allies.”

“He has an ally,” Lady Selyse said “R’hllor, the Lord of Light, theHeart of Fire, the God of Flame and Shadow.”

“Gods make uncertain allies at best,” the old man insisted, “and that one

has no power here.”

“You think not?” The ruby at Melisandre’s throat caught the light as sheturned her head, and for an instant it seemed to glow bright as the comet “Ifyou will speak such folly, Maester, you ought to wear your crown again.”

“Yes,” Lady Selyse agreed “Patches’s helm It suits you well, old man

Put it on again, I command you.”

“Under the sea, no one wears hats,” Patchface said “I know, I know, oh,

oh, oh.”

Lord Stannis’s eyes were shadowed beneath his heavy brow, his mouthtight as his jaw worked silently He always ground his teeth when he wasangry “Fool,” he growled at last, “my lady wife commands Give Cressenyour helm.”

No, the old maester thought, this is not you, not your way, you were always just, always hard yet never cruel, never, you did not understand mockery, no more than you understood laughter.

Patchface danced closer, his cowbells ringing, clang-a-lang, ding-ding, clink-clank-clink-clank The maester sat silent while the fool set the antlered

bucket on his brow Cressen bowed his head beneath the weight His bellsclanged “Perhaps he ought sing his counsel henceforth,” Lady Selyse said

“You go too far, woman,” Lord Stannis said “He is an old man, andhe’s served me well.”

And I will serve you to the last, my sweet lord, my poor lonely son,

Cressen thought, for suddenly he saw the way Ser Davos’s cup was beforehim, still half-full of sour red He found a hard flake of crystal in his sleeve,

held it tight between thumb and forefinger as he reached for the cup Smooth motions, deft, I must not fumble now, he prayed, and the gods were kind In

the blink of an eye, his fingers were empty His hands had not been so steadyfor years, nor half so fluid Davos saw, but no one else, he was certain Cup

in hand, he rose to his feet “Mayhaps I have been a fool Lady Melisandre,will you share a cup of wine with me? A cup in honor of your god, your Lord

of Light? A cup to toast his power?”

The red woman studied him “If you wish.”

He could feel them all watching him Davos clutched at him as he leftthe bench, catching his sleeve with the fingers that Lord Stannis hadshortened “What are you doing?” he whispered

“A thing that must be done,” Maester Cressen answered, “for the sake ofthe realm, and the soul of my lord.” He shook off Davos’s hand, spilling adrop of wine on the rushes

She met him beneath the high table with every man’s eyes upon them.But Cressen saw only her Red silk, red eyes, the ruby red at her throat, redlips curled in a faint smile as she put her hand atop his own, around the cup.Her skin felt hot, feverish “It is not too late to spill the wine, Maester.”

“No,” he whispered hoarsely “No.”

“As you will.” Melisandre of Asshai took the cup from his hands anddrank long and deep There was only half a swallow of wine remaining whenshe offered it back to him “And now you.”

His hands were shaking, but he made himself be strong A maester ofthe Citadel must not be afraid The wine was sour on his tongue He let the

empty cup drop from his fingers to shatter on the floor “He does have power

here, my lord,” the woman said “And fire cleanses.” At her throat, the rubyshimmered redly

Cressen tried to reply, but his words caught in his throat His coughbecame a terrible thin whistle as he strained to suck in air Iron fingerstightened round his neck As he sank to his knees, still he shook his head,denying her, denying her power, denying her magic, denying her god And

the cowbells peeled in his antlers, singing fool, fool, fool while the red

woman looked down on him in pity, the candle flames dancing in her red redeyes

At Winterfell they had called her “Arya Horseface” and she’d thoughtnothing could be worse, but that was before the orphan boy LommyGreenhands had named her “Lumpyhead.”

Her head felt lumpy when she touched it When Yoren had dragged her

into that alley she’d thought he meant to kill her, but the sour old man hadonly held her tight, sawing through her mats and tangles with his dagger Sheremembered how the breeze sent the fistfuls of dirty brown hair skitteringacross the paving stones, toward the sept where her father had died “I’mtaking men and boys from the city,” Yoren growled as the sharp steel scraped

at her head “Now you hold still, boy.” By the time he had finished, her scalp

was nothing but tufts and stubble

Afterward he told her that from there to Winterfell she’d be Arry theorphan boy “Gate shouldn’t be hard, but the road’s another matter You got along way to go in bad company I got thirty this time, men and boys all boundfor the Wall, and don’t be thinking they’re like that bastard brother o’ yours.”

He shook her “Lord Eddard gave me pick o’ the dungeons, and I didn’t find

no little lordlings down there This lot, half o’ them would turn you over tothe queen quick as spit for a pardon and maybe a few silvers The other half’d

do the same, only they’d rape you first So you keep to yourself and makeyour water in the woods, alone That’ll be the hardest part, the pissing, sodon’t drink no more’n you need.”

Leaving King’s Landing was easy, just like he’d said The Lannisterguardsmen on the gate were stopping everyone, but Yoren called one byname and their wagons were waved through No one spared Arya a glance.They were looking for a highborn girl, daughter of the King’s Hand, not for askinny boy with his hair chopped off Arya never looked back She wishedthe Rush would rise and wash the whole city away, Flea Bottom and the Red

Keep and the Great Sept and everything, and everyone too, especially Prince

Joffrey and his mother But she knew it wouldn’t, and anyhow Sansa was still

in the city and would wash away too When she remembered that, Aryadecided to wish for Winterfell instead

Yoren was wrong about the pissing, though That wasn’t the hardest part

at all; Lommy Greenhands and Hot Pie were the hardest part Orphan boys.Yoren had plucked some from the streets with promises of food for theirbellies and shoes for their feet The rest he’d found in chains “The Watchneeds good men,” he told them as they set out, “but you lot will have to do.”Yoren had taken grown men from the dungeons as well, thieves andpoachers and rapers and the like The worst were the three he’d found in theblack cells who must have scared even him, because he kept them fetteredhand and foot in the back of a wagon, and vowed they’d stay in irons all theway to the Wall One had no nose, only the hole in his face where it had beencut off, and the gross fat bald one with the pointed teeth and the weepingsores on his cheeks had eyes like nothing human

They took five wagons out of King’s Landing, laden with supplies forthe Wall: hides and bolts of cloth, bars of pig iron, a cage of ravens, booksand paper and ink, a bale of sourleaf, jars of oil, and chests of medicine andspices Teams of plow horses pulled the wagons, and Yoren had bought twocoursers and a half-dozen donkeys for the boys Arya would have preferred areal horse, but the donkey was better than riding on a wagon

The men paid her no mind, but she was not so lucky with the boys Shewas two years younger than the youngest orphan, not to mention smaller andskinnier, and Lommy and Hot Pie took her silence to mean she was scared, orstupid, or deaf “Look at that sword Lumpyhead’s got there,” Lommy saidone morning as they made their plodding way past orchards and wheat fields.He’d been a dyer’s apprentice before he was caught stealing, and his armswere mottled green to the elbow When he laughed he brayed like thedonkeys they were riding “Where’s a gutter rat like Lumpyhead get him asword?”

Arya chewed her lip sullenly She could see the back of Yoren’s fadedblack cloak up ahead of the wagons, but she was determined not to go crying

to him for help

“Maybe he’s a little squire,” Hot Pie put in His mother had been a bakerbefore she died, and he’d pushed her cart through the streets all day, shouting

“Hot pies! Hot pies!” “Some lordy lord’s little squire boy, that’s it.”

“He ain’t no squire, look at him I bet that’s not even a real sword I betit’s just some play sword made of tin.”

Arya hated them making fun of Needle “It’s castle-forged steel, youstupid,” she snapped, turning in the saddle to glare at them, “and you better

shut your mouth.”

The orphan boys hooted “Where’d you get a blade like that,Lumpyface?” Hot Pie wanted to know

“Lumpyhead,” corrected Lommy “He prob’ly stole it.”

“I did not!” she shouted Jon Snow had given her Needle Maybe she

had to let them call her Lumpyhead, but she wasn’t going to let them call Jon

a thief

“If he stole it, we could take it off him,” said Hot Pie “It’s not hisanyhow I could use me a sword like that.”

Lommy egged him on “Go on, take it off him, I dare you.”

Hot Pie kicked his donkey, riding closer “Hey, Lumpyface, you gimmethat sword.” His hair was the color of straw, his fat face all sunburnt andpeeling “You don’t know how to use it.”

Yes I do, Arya could have said I killed a boy, a fat boy like you, I stabbed him in the belly and he died, and I’ll kill you too if you don’t let me alone Only she did not dare Yoren didn’t know about the stableboy, but she

was afraid of what he might do if he found out Arya was pretty sure thatsome of the other men were killers too, the three in the manacles for sure, but

the queen wasn’t looking for them, so it wasn’t the same.

“Look at him,” brayed Lommy Greenhands “I bet he’s going to crynow You want to cry, Lumpyhead?”

She had cried in her sleep the night before, dreaming of her father.Come morning, she’d woken red-eyed and dry, and could not have shedanother tear if her life had hung on it

“He’s going to wet his pants,” Hot Pie suggested

“Leave him be,” said the boy with the shaggy black hair who rode

behind them Lommy had named him the Bull, on account of this horned

helm he had that he polished all the time but never wore Lommy didn’t daremock the Bull He was older, and big for his age, with a broad chest andstrong-looking arms

“You better give Hot Pie the sword, Arry,” Lommy said “Hot Pie wants

it bad He kicked a boy to death He’ll do the same to you, I bet.”

“I knocked him down and I kicked him in the balls, and I kept kickinghim there until he was dead,” Hot Pie boasted “I kicked him all to pieces.His balls were broke open and bloody and his cock turned black You bettergimme the sword.”

Arya slid her practice sword from her belt “You can have this one,” she

told Hot Pie, not wanting to fight.

“That’s just some stick.” He rode nearer and tried to reach over forNeedle’s hilt

Arya made the stick whistle as she laid the wood across his donkey’s

hindquarters The animal hawed and bucked, dumping Hot Pie on the ground.

She vaulted off her own donkey and poked him in the gut as he tried to get upand he sat back down with a grunt Then she whacked him across the face

and his nose made a crack like a branch breaking Blood dribbled from his

nostrils When Hot Pie began to wail, Arya whirled toward LommyGreenhands, who was sitting on his donkey openmouthed “You want somesword too?” she yelled, but he didn’t He raised dyed green hands in front ofhis face and squealed at her to get away

The Bull shouted, “Behind you,” and Arya spun Hot Pie was on hisknees, his fist closing around a big jagged rock She let him throw it, duckingher head as it sailed past Then she flew at him He raised a hand and she hit

it, and then his cheek, and then his knee He grabbed for her, and she dancedaside and bounced the wood off the back of his head He fell down and got upand stumbled after her, his red face all smeared with dirt and blood Arya slidinto a water dancer’s stance and waited When he came close enough, shelunged, right between his legs, so hard that if her wooden sword had had apoint it would have come out between his butt cheeks

By the time Yoren pulled her off him, Hot Pie was sprawled out on theground with his breeches brown and smelly, crying as Arya whapped him

over and over and over “Enough,” the black brother roared, prying the stick

sword from her fingers, “you want to kill the fool?” When Lommy and someothers started to squeal, the old man turned on them too “Shut your mouths,

or I’ll be shutting them for you Any more o’ this, I’ll tie you lot behind the

wagons and drag you to the Wall.” He spat “And that goes twice for you, Arry You come with me, boy Now.”

They were all looking at her, even the three chained and manacled in the

back of the wagon The fat one snapped his pointy teeth together and hissed,

but Arya ignored him

The old man dragged her well off the road into a tangle of trees, cursingand muttering all the while “If I had a thimble o’ sense, I would’ve left you

in King’s Landing You hear me, boy?” He always snarled that word, putting

a bite in it so she would be certain to hear “Unlace your breeches and pull

’em down Go on, there’s no one here to see Do it.” Sullenly, Arya did as he

said “Over there, against the oak Yes, like that.” She wrapped her armsaround the trunk and pressed her face to the rough wood “You scream now.You scream loud.”

I won’t, Arya thought stubbornly, but when Yoren laid the wood against

the back of her bare thighs, the shriek burst out of her anyway “Think thathurt?” he said “Try this one.” The stick came whistling Arya shrieked again,clutching the tree to keep from falling “One more.” She held on tight,chewing her lip, flinching when she heard it coming The stroke made her

jump and howl I won’t cry, she thought, I won’t do that I’m a Stark of Winterfell, our sigil is the direwolf, direwolves don’t cry She could feel a

thin trickle of blood running down her left leg Her thighs and cheeks wereablaze with pain “Might be I got your attention now,” Yoren said “Nexttime you take that stick to one of your brothers, you’ll get twice what yougive, you hear me? Now cover yourself.”

They’re not my brothers, Arya thought as she bent to yank up her

breeches, but she knew better than to say so Her hands fumbled with her beltand laces

Yoren was looking at her “You hurt?”

Calm as still water, she told herself, the way Syrio Forel had taught her.

“Some.”

He spat “That pie boy’s hurting worse It wasn’t him as killed yourfather, girl, nor that thieving Lommy neither Hitting them won’t bring himback.”

“I know,” Arya muttered sullenly

“Here’s something you don’t know It wasn’t supposed to happen like itdid I was set to leave, wagons bought and loaded, and a man comes with aboy for me, and a purse of coin, and a message, never mind who it’s from.Lord Eddard’s to take the black, he says to me, wait, he’ll be going with you.Why d’you think I was there? Only something went queer.”

“Joffrey,” Arya breathed “Someone should kill him!”

“Someone will, but it won’t be me, nor you neither.” Yoren tossed backher stick sword “Got sourleaf back at the wagons,” he said as they madetheir way back to the road “You’ll chew some, it’ll help with the sting.”

It did help, some, though the taste of it was foul and it made her spitlook like blood Even so, she walked for the rest of that day, and the day

after, and the day after that, too raw to sit a donkey Hot Pie was worse off;

Yoren had to shift some barrels around so he could lie in the back of a wagon

on some sacks of barley, and he whimpered every time the wheels hit a rock.Lommy Greenhands wasn’t even hurt, yet he stayed as far away from Arya as

he could get “Every time you look at him, he twitches,” the Bull told her asshe walked beside his donkey She did not answer It seemed safer not to talk

to anyone

That night she lay upon her thin blanket on the hard ground, staring up

at the great red comet The comet was splendid and scary all at once “TheRed Sword,” the Bull named it; he claimed it looked like a sword, the bladestill red-hot from the forge When Arya squinted the right way she could seethe sword too, only it wasn’t a new sword, it was Ice, her father’s greatsword,all ripply Valyrian steel, and the red was Lord Eddard’s blood on the bladeafter Ser Ilyn the King’s Justice had cut off his head Yoren had made herlook away when it happened, yet it seemed to her that the comet looked likeIce must have, after

When at last she slept, she dreamed of home The kingsroad wound itsway past Winterfell on its way to the Wall, and Yoren had promised he’dleave her there with no one any wiser about who she’d been She yearned tosee her mother again, and Robb and Bran and Rickon… but it was Jon Snowshe thought of most She wished somehow they could come to the Wall

before Winterfell, so Jon might muss up her hair and call her “little sister.”

She’d tell him, “I missed you,” and he’d say it too at the very same moment,the way they always used to say things together She would have liked that.She would have liked that better than anything

The morning of King Joffrey’s name day dawned bright and windy, with thelong tail of the great comet visible through the high scuttling clouds Sansawas watching it from her tower window when Ser Arys Oakheart arrived toescort her down to the tourney grounds “What do you think it means?” sheasked him

“Glory to your betrothed,” Ser Arys answered at once “See how itflames across the sky today on His Grace’s name day, as if the godsthemselves had raised a banner in his honor The smallfolk have named itKing Joffrey’s Comet.”

Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure “I’veheard servants calling it the Dragon’s Tail.”

“King Joffrey sits where Aegon the Dragon once sat, in the castle built

by his son,” Ser Arys said “He is the dragon’s heir—and crimson is the color

of House Lannister, another sign This comet is sent to herald Joffrey’s ascent

to the throne, I have no doubt It means that he will triumph over hisenemies.”

Is it true? she wondered Would the gods be so cruel? Her mother was

one of Joffrey’s enemies now, her brother Robb another Her father had died

by the king’s command Must Robb and her lady mother die next? The comet

was red, but Joffrey was Baratheon as much as Lannister, and their sigil was

a black stag on a golden field Shouldn’t the gods have sent Joff a goldencomet?

Sansa closed the shutters and turned sharply away from the window

“You look very lovely today, my lady,” Ser Arys said

“Thank you, ser.” Knowing that Joffrey would require her to attend thetourney in his honor, Sansa had taken special care with her face and clothes.She wore a gown of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been agift from Joffrey The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms.Those were Joffrey’s gifts as well When they told him that Robb had beenproclaimed King in the North, his rage had been a fearsome thing, and he hadsent Ser Boros to beat her

“Shall we go?” Ser Arys offered his arm and she let him lead her fromher chamber If she must have one of the Kingsguard dogging her steps,Sansa preferred that it be him Ser Boros was short-tempered, Ser Meryncold, and Ser Mandon’s strange dead eyes made her uneasy, while SerPreston treated her like a lackwit child Arys Oakheart was courteous, andwould talk to her cordially Once he even objected when Joffrey commanded

him to hit her He did hit her in the end, but not hard as Ser Meryn or Ser

Boros might have, and at least he had argued The others obeyed withoutquestion… except for the Hound, but Joff never asked the Hound to punishher He used the other five for that

Ser Arys had light brown hair and a face that was not unpleasant to lookupon Today he made quite the dashing figure, with his white silk cloakfastened at the shoulder by a golden leaf, and a spreading oak tree workedupon the breast of his tunic in shining gold thread “Who do you think willwin the day’s honors?” Sansa asked as they descended the steps arm in arm

“I will,” Ser Arys answered, smiling “Yet I fear the triumph will have

no savor This will be a small field, and poor No more than two score willenter the lists, including squires and freeriders There is small honor inunhorsing green boys.”

The last tourney had been different, Sansa reflected King Robert hadstaged it in her father’s honor High lords and fabled champions had comefrom all over the realm to compete, and the whole city had turned out towatch She remembered the splendor of it: the field of pavilions along theriver with a knight’s shield hung before each door, the long rows of silkenpennants waving in the wind, the gleam of sunlight on bright steel and gildedspurs The days had rung to the sounds of trumpets and pounding hooves, andthe nights had been full of feasts and song Those had been the most magicaldays of her life, but they seemed a memory from another age now RobertBaratheon was dead, and her father as well, beheaded for a traitor on the steps

of the Great Sept of Baelor Now there were three kings in the land, and warraged beyond the Trident while the city filled with desperate men Smallwonder that they had to hold Joff’s tournament behind the thick stone walls

of the Red Keep

“Will the queen attend, do you think?” Sansa always felt safer whenCersei was there to restrain her son

“I fear not, my lady The council is meeting, some urgent business.” SerArys dropped his voice “Lord Tywin has gone to ground at Harrenhal

instead of bringing his army to the city as the queen commanded Her Grace

is furious.” He fell silent as a column of Lannister guardsmen marched past,

in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms Ser Arys was fond of gossip, butonly when he was certain that no one was listening

The carpenters had erected a gallery and lists in the outer bailey It was apoor thing indeed, and the meager throng that had gathered to watch filledbut half the seats Most of the spectators were guardsmen in the gold cloaks

of the City Watch or the crimson of House Lannister; of lords and ladiesthere were but a paltry few, the handful that remained at court Grey-facedLord Gyles Rosby was coughing into a square of pink silk Lady Tanda wasbracketed by her daughters, placid dull Lollys and acid-tongued Falyse.Ebon-skinned Jalabhar Xho was an exile who had no other refuge, LadyErmesande a babe seated on her wet nurse’s lap The talk was she would soon

be wed to one of the queen’s cousins, so the Lannisters might claim herlands

The king was shaded beneath a crimson canopy, one leg thrownnegligently over the carved wooden arm of his chair Princess Myrcella andPrince Tommen sat behind him In the back of the royal box, Sandor Cleganestood at guard, his hands resting on his swordbelt The white cloak of theKingsguard was draped over his broad shoulders and fastened with a jeweledbrooch, the snowy cloth looking somehow unnatural against his brownroughspun tunic and studded leather jerkin “Lady Sansa,” the Houndannounced curtly when he saw her His voice was as rough as the sound of asaw on wood The burn scars on his face and throat made one side of hismouth twitch when he spoke

Princess Myrcella nodded a shy greeting at the sound of Sansa’s name,but plump little Prince Tommen jumped up eagerly “Sansa, did you hear?I’m to ride in the tourney today Mother said I could.” Tommen was all ofeight He reminded her of her own little brother, Bran They were of an age.Bran was back at Winterfell, a cripple, yet safe

Sansa would have given anything to be with him “I fear for the life ofyour foeman,” she told Tommen solemnly

“His foeman will be stuffed with straw,” Joff said as he rose The kingwas clad in a gilded breastplate with a roaring lion engraved upon its chest, as

if he expected the war to engulf them at any moment He was thirteen today,and tall for his age, with the green eyes and golden hair of the Lannisters

“Your Grace,” she said, dipping in a curtsy

Ser Arys bowed “Pray pardon me, Your Grace I must equip myself forthe lists.”

Joffrey waved a curt dismissal while he studied Sansa from head toheels “I’m pleased you wore my stones.”

So the king had decided to play the gallant today Sansa was relieved “Ithank you for them… and for your tender words I pray you a lucky nameday, Your Grace.”

“Sit,” Joff commanded, gesturing her to the empty seat beside his own

“Have you heard? The Beggar King is dead.”

“Who?” For a moment Sansa was afraid he meant Robb

“Viserys The last son of Mad King Aerys He’s been going about theFree Cities since before I was born, calling himself a king Well, Mother saysthe Dothraki finally crowned him With molten gold.” He laughed “That’sfunny, don’t you think? The dragon was their sigil It’s almost as good as ifsome wolf killed your traitor brother Maybe I’ll feed him to wolves after I’vecaught him Did I tell you, I intend to challenge him to single combat?”

“I should like to see that, Your Grace.” More than you know Sansa kept

her tone cool and polite, yet even so Joffrey’s eyes narrowed as he tried todecide whether she was mocking him “Will you enter the lists today?” sheasked quickly

The king frowned “My lady mother said it was not fitting, since thetourney is in my honor Otherwise I would have been champion Isn’t that so,dog?”

The Hound’s mouth twitched “Against this lot? Why not?”

He had been the champion in her father’s tourney, Sansa remembered.

“Will you joust today, my lord?” she asked him

Clegane’s voice was thick with contempt “Wouldn’t be worth thebother of arming myself This is a tournament of gnats.”

The king laughed “My dog has a fierce bark Perhaps I shouldcommand him to fight the day’s champion To the death.” Joffrey was fond

of making men fight to the death

“You’d be one knight the poorer.” The Hound had never taken aknight’s vows His brother was a knight, and he hated his brother

A blare of trumpets sounded The king settled back in his seat and tookSansa’s hand Once that would have set her heart to pounding, but that wasbefore he had answered her plea for mercy by presenting her with her father’shead His touch filled her with revulsion now, but she knew better than to